


"A straight man walks into a fro-yo store..."

by chrundletheokay



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Canon-Typical Internalized Homophobia, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Dennis is Gay, Eating Disorders, Gen, and just kinda runs with it, as a post-s13 fic, as a straight man, as part of a longer fic where i was filling in the gaps between episodes, diet culture bullshit, food talk, i think i wrote this shortly after s13 aired? maybe even during?, it picks up on dennis's ''as a straight man'' bit from ''the bathroom problem'' ep, it works on its own though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 11:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20620625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrundletheokay/pseuds/chrundletheokay
Summary: “Dennis.” His sister folds her arms on the formica tabletop and leans forward, making insistent and uncomfortable eye contact. “It’s you and me, right? Mac’s not here, or Frank or Charlie. What is this, huh? What’re you doing, dude?”





	"A straight man walks into a fro-yo store..."

**Author's Note:**

> TW: ED stuff, diet culture, food talk, canon-typical misogyny and internalized homophobia

“As a straight man, I love a good fro-yo place,” Dennis begins. “See, the great thing about—”

“Hang on. No. What is this?” Dee gestures at him with her pink plastic spoon.

“_This_? Is you interrupting me,” Dennis says testily. “And _this_ is me telling you to stop talking.”

He slides into the pastel vinyl booth across from his sister. A window seat: perfect for watching possible vehicular collisions, as well as countless dumbasses falling victim to the Philadelphia Parking Authority’s generous ticketing practice.

“Where was I? Oh yes. As a straight man, probably my most favorite thing about going to a fro-yo store—”

“Nope,” Dee interrupts once more, this time around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie dough. She pulls a face and swallows. “No, I’m gonna have to stop you right there.”

“Goddamnit,” Dennis sighs. “Just forget it. I was gonna do a whole thing about saturated fat and empty calories and—”

“I don’t give a shit,” Dee exclaims. “I don’t wanna hear that when I’m eating. That’s just _rude_.”

He carefully scrapes a sliver off the top of his perfectly constructed fro-yo mound and lets the icy sorbet melt on his tongue. “You better start to give a shit. At your advanced age, it’s bound to start catching up with you — that is, if it hasn’t already.” Using his impeccable timing, he looks up from his fro-yo at just the right moment to give her a cold glare of warning.

Dee’s jaw drops in a way that is entirely unflattering. In a lesser fro-yo store, his sister would be in danger of catching flies. Luckily for her, however, Dennis is a discerning consumer. He’s shopped around enough to know which businesses to avoid and which to patronize — which are worth leaving South Philly for, and which he would avoid even if his life depended on them.

Dee stammers nonsensical croaking bird noises at him. Eventually, she manages to form real English words. “At my—We’re the same exact—We’re twins,” Dee screeches.

“Only in the most technical sense. Women age so much faster, you see. And you don’t age _well_, either,” explains Dennis. And he does it ever so patiently and calmly, unlike his hysterical sister. “I say this, of course, as a straight—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dee snarls, “Straight man.” She scoops a truly horrifying amount of fro-yo onto her spoon and angrily shovels it into her giant bird beak.

Dennis blinks hard, trying to clear the mental image from his memory before turning back to his own sorbet. “Yes,” he says primly, once he has regained control of his faculties. “A straight man. And one who has been with _many_ women in his life. Including some who were _older_ than me,” he explains. “But the truth is that women—”

When she interrupts him yet again, Dee’s voice is filled with exasperation, as if Dennis is the one being intolerable, not her. “Jesus Christ, Dennis,” she growls, “just drop the schtick already.”

“Seriously? What is your problem?” he snaps, slamming his paper fro-yo cup onto to the table.

“_My_ problem? What’s _your_ problem?”

“My problem is that you keep interrupting me,” Dennis shouts. “That’s the only problem here.”

Dee rolls her eyes. “God, really? Are you really gonna keep doing this?”

Dennis throws his hands up in exasperation. This whole experience is really putting him off his fro-yo. It’s a shame, too, because he’d planned carefully and could afford it, calorically speaking. Instead of answering, he makes a determined effort to ignore Dee’s existence. Perhaps if he tries hard enough, he could mentally will her to be teleported to Siberia, like some kind of next-level telekinesis. (If anyone could do it, he could.)

There’s a blessed moment of silence. Dennis scrapes out the meltiest bits of his favorite flavor to eat first. Perhaps the experience can be salvaged yet.

“Dennis.” His sister folds her arms on the formica tabletop and leans forward, making insistent and uncomfortable eye contact. “It’s you and me, right? Mac’s not here, or Frank or Charlie. What is this, huh? What’re you doing, dude?”

He tilts the opening of the magenta cup toward her so she can see the disaster she has wrought upon his afternoon treat. “Trying to eat my fro-yo in peace before it melts, you goddamn bitch.”

“No, that’s not what I—Look,” she mutters conspiratorially, “we both know you’re not straight, so why don’t you cut the bullshit.”

Dennis lets out a hysterical laugh. “We _what,_ now?”

“Oh, come _on,_” Dee groans. “Give it a rest. You’re _so_ gay, dude.”

“I’m not gay,” Dennis exclaims, not at all defensively. “What is _wrong_ with you people?”

“You have a fresh manicure, you wear blue all the time because you think it makes your eyes pop, you own more hair products than I do, you’re wearing more than ‘just a little foundation’ right now—”

“And you’re saying straight men can’t do any of that? That’s just homophobic, Dee. It’s regressive. And it’s reverse sexist, is what it is. Frankly, I’m disappointed in you,” he says, haughtily.

Dee shrugs, and scoops another spoonful of fro-yo and chocolate chip cookie dough chunks into her mouth. The smug look on her face says she isn’t done — with her disgusting dessert, or with running her mouth.

Dennis can feel his heart pounding uncomfortably, until, finally, Dee says it: “This feels like a family establishment, so I wasn’t gonna say you bang dudes, Dennis; but you bang dudes.”

_“I do not bang dudes!”_

It comes out far louder than he had intended. (“_Comes out?”_ Oh, goddamnit.)

His eyes frantically dart around the fro-yo store. The only other customers are a young couple sitting a few tables over, but they seem too absorbed in their respective smart phones to have heard. The cashier is leaning against the counter holding an open book in her hands, but she clearly has been eavesdropping. When she catches Dennis’s gaze, she hides her face behind her book. Dennis still catches a glimpse of the wide grin stretched across her face.

Dennis turns back to his sister with a glare. “Dee, you goddamn bitch,” he hisses. “I am straight, and you know it.”

She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head at him. “_Nah_,” she drags the word out far too long. “Bi, maybe. But definitely not straight.”

“Really? Whatever happened to ‘you’re not gay; you’re just vain?’”

Immediately, Dee chokes out an undignified laugh/snort combination. “I dunno,” she answers. “What is _that?_ Did someone say that to you? ‘Cause they were dead wrong — you’re obviously both.” She shoves another excessively large spoonful of fro-yo into her gaping maw.

At this point, if Dennis were to murder his sister, any reasonable jury would acquit him in a heartbeat.

“It was you,” he shrieks. “_You_ said that to me!”

Dee licks her lips and scrapes at the sides of the paper cup with her spoon. She squints her eyes and looks up at the seafoam green ceiling, as if deep in thought. “No, I don’t think so,” she says at last. “That doesn’t sound right at all. You’re gay as shit, Dennis. Every time you open your mouth, a purse falls out.”

“I beg your pardon?” Dennis draws his spine up very straight, because, as a straight man, he believes in good posture and the power of intimidation. Looks _can_ kill, and anyone who says otherwise simply isn’t trying hard enough.

Dee grins smugly. “You heard me. I said what I said.”

“That is _incredibly_ homophobic, Deandra. I do _not_ think you’re allowed to say that anymore,” he says sharply.

However, Dee still doesn’t seem apologetic, so he stands and dumps the remainder of his frozen yogurt out onto her overly-processed hair. She freezes in place, her hideous mouth hanging open, with not a sound coming out of it.

As he stalks toward the exit, Dennis can feel his entire body shaking with rage and adrenaline. He’s not seeing red; oh, no — he’s seeing blinding white. Everything is hot, and he’s burning up. In fact, he’s certain he has enough energy and rage and adrenaline in his perfectly sculpted body to run to Paddy’s and back a hundred times, and to murder Dee over and over and over until—

“What the fuck?” Dee screeches at last, just as he reaches the door.

“Eat a bag of dicks, you bitch,” Dennis shouts, without turning around to so much as glance at her. “Oh, and have fun walking back. I hope you fuckin’ get hit by a car.”

The bells clang as he throws open the glass door, and then, Dee’s voice follows: “Oh, goddamnit!”

Dennis didn’t need to eat fro-yo anyway. That shit’s disgusting.


End file.
